


Clean To The Bone

by indigo_inkpot



Series: You Might As Well Live [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 14:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inkpot/pseuds/indigo_inkpot
Summary: Some days, the pain starts, and it just won't stop. It'll break you if you let it, so the easiest solution is to let it. Break in the most gentle way you can, and trust the ones you love to mend you.Shiro has people to mend him now, all he has to do is trust them enough to break.





	Clean To The Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled "The Doorway Effect"
> 
> I'm just gonna keep writing these because it's what I know and it's semi-helpful to put these thoughts down someplace.

Today is one of those days when Shiro openly despises their open plan living space. Aside from the two bedrooms and bathroom, the whole place is free from stud walls and obstacles. Matt complains constantly about the lack of things to lean against when he's flaring up but, until recently, Shiro had been grateful for it. No tight spaces, a bunch of windows, soft fluffy carpets intercepted by under-heated laminate wood flooring. Pidge's manuals, their communal comic book collection and framed photographs on the walls. Everything about this space was a world away from the Galra, from the Castle, from  _everywhere_. It was a space wholly and uniquely theirs.

But until today it had never felt so  _big_. He's marooned, lost somewhere between the sofa and the fridge, although damn if he can remember what he stood up for. He'd blame the Doorway Effect, but it's hard to blame a threshold for the brain fog that's dogged him all week. That, and _there's no goddamn door_. 

He spends some time adrift. Walking back to the sofa feels pointless, not when there was something he clearly needed to do. He can't afford to waste energy like that. But the thought of making it to the kitchen counter, fulfilling whatever intention he had when he got up, and making it  _back_ feels like an impossible task. He knows he hasn't eaten in a while, but the pain lapping against his right side like a toxic wave makes food so unappealing. 

Just as Shiro is wracking his brains, the tide breaks over him again, and he fights the urge to let his body bend at the waist. If he bends, his legs won't hold him up, and if he ends up on the floor he won't be able to do  _whatever it was he's supposed to be doing_ and the others will find him on the floor and panic-

"Hey, I'm home!" Shiro hears keys landing in the bowl; a jingle followed by a rattle. That would be Hunk, who keeps a little plastic multi-purpose tool attached to his keyring (it's different from the distinct sound of Keith's metal one, which makes a heavy  _clang_ against the bowl, followed by the _hiss_ of his belt chain following it). Before Shiro can try a last-second grab for the counter, or make an effort to at least look like he's not slowly curling into a standing fetal position, Hunk comes around the corner.

"Shiro? Dude I thought you were gonna wait for me to come back, I said preheating wouldn't take that long." Hunk shoves his bags onto the counter and stops just short of Shiro's elbow, arms out to steady him if he needed it.

_Of course_ , he's so stupid. Shiro swallows a laugh before it gets out of control. Hunk had been texting him on the way back from work, talking groceries and meal plans. They had been thinking about preparing dinner for everyone, Shiro had gotten up to put the oven on to preheat and fill the kettle so they could settle down together later. Or at least, he'd been planning to.

He's so tired of this. It's a novelty when brain fog settles in for a day and he makes three cups of coffee in a row (which someone else is always happy to help him drink), but after a few days, it's just inconvenient. After a week, it's beyond frustrating. He knows he needs to move, he needs to tell Hunk he's fine, fill the kettle, switch on the oven, go back to his seat.  _Any of the above_. But he's stuck in limbo.

He's so tired. Hunk shuffles a little closer, ghosts his hand along Shiro's arm. He doesn't move or protest, and a gentle hand alights on his elbow. Taking a deep breath and mustering his best poker face, Shiro turns. There are words on his lips -  _"I'm fine"_ ,  _"don't worry"_ ,  _"how was your day?"_ \- but they all slip back down his throat when his back spasms mid-twist and his right leg crumples. 

He has a second, maybe two, where he feels completely weightless, barely enough time to brace for the landing. It doesn't come how he's expecting, his knees don't crack against the wood floor, his hips aren't battered by the impact. Instead, there's a sharp tug on his wrist and an arm at his back. The touch sends his muscles flaring once again.

"You're okay, just breathe." Hunk is whispering in his ear and it takes Shiro a moment to realise it's because he's _not_ breathing. His jaw is clenched so tight he can feel the throb of his pulse all the way up to his temple and his fingers are beginning to go numb where he's gripping Hunk's winter jacket like a vice. He nods, pressing his face in to Hunk's shoulder. Hunk leans back and pulls them upright, but doesn't let go just yet.

Shiro finally manages to get his feet under him, Hunk still holds on.

"I'm good, Hunk, thanks," Shiro murmurs, even though he can't deny there's something comfortable about this. He's had the thermostat on higher than usual today, a reaction to the cold and his protesting muscles. Despite having just arrived home, still wearing his thick coat and the very sweet homemade beanie he's obsessed with, Hunk is a radiator in the centre of the room.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I don't want a hug anyway," Hunk says simply, "You scared me for a second there."

"I scared myself," Shiro laughs, but his lip wobbles and the next breath comes out wet. With nowhere to go, he buries his head in the curve of Hunk's collarbones. Damn it, he'd been trying to avoid this.

"Aw Shiro, I'm sorry." Hunk's other arm comes around his back, and Shiro clings to him despite the way his muscles protest. It's a good pain, he feels held and  _real_ for the first time in days. "I didn't realise how rough you were feeling."

Shiro sniffles against Hunk's neck, "It's fine, I'm sorry I scared you." He feels the gentle bump of a kiss being pressed against the top of his head.

"You have  _nothing_ to be sorry for. But I think we'll both be feeling pretty sorry for ourselves if all those groceries don't get put away, so how about you start warming up the blanket nest for me?" He appreciates the way Hunk says it, like Shiro isn't a burden or an inconvenience. 

He can't fight the voice inside his head screaming he is,  _he is_ , when he can't even stand upright on his own, never mind be useful.

Hunk sees him halfway back to the sofa, and when he's moving under his own steam, Shiro carries on to the sofa alone. He has a wobble when he circles around the edge of the sofa, but he makes it back to the nest safely. 

His preferred method of dealing with flare ups is to curl up in the dark in the fetal position and sleep until he's not in agony any more. Unfortunately, today is laundry day, and woe betide anyone who stands between Lance and his loads of whites, lights and dark colours. So Shiro had reluctantly staggered out into the living room, letting the morning rush of everyone heading off to work (Matt and Hunk), school (Pidge and Keith) or the communal utility room (Lance) pass over him while he napped. 

It had been nice for once. The main bedroom is a calm, quiet haven, but it can feel a little like a cave sometimes. Their living space is a clash of so many personalities; colour and light and fabric, but it's comforting and friendly. The sofa is angled so Matt seems to trip over it every time he goes for a drink in the middle of the night, but it's also perfectly placed to catch the afternoon sunbeams (that had to be Keith's doing, he was notorious for settling down to bask in the sun whenever he has a moment to be still). 

All these perfect home comforts, but all they do is put Shiro on edge.

"I can hear you brooding from the kitchen," Hunk interrupts, setting two mugs down on the coffee table and tucking his feet up into the space Shiro hasn't taken up. L-shaped sofas are the best thing ever and Shiro is glad Lance and Pidge bullied them all into buying it. Hunk looks so comfortable, cross-legged with a blanket tucked around him. He leans over and passes Shiro his favourite mug - the ridiculous novelty one that looks like an overweight black cat - filled with tea. Shiro shoves a pillow he dragged out of the bedroom under his chest so he can sit up and drink without straining his back. 

They don't turn on the TV, and Hunk seems content to sit in silence, so they do for a while, until Shiro feels himself dozing off. The half-empty mug is lifted out of his grasp, and a hand begins playing with his hair. 

* * *

"Did you take anything yet?"

Shiro frowns, trying to work out how he'll explain it. The pain is bad, but the idea of being foggier with medication makes him feel sick. He just wants to be clear-headed, he needs to wait for this to pass and then he can get up, he'll move the pillows back into the bedroom before anyone knows he spent the whole day lying around and then when the others come home it'll be like nothing has happened. 

"Hey, I'm sorry," Hunk curls closer to him, and Shiro relaxes against the warmth of another person nearby. He just needs this, just him and Hunk and this sofa. 

"I was thinking we could have a movie night tonight. Matt is carpooling with Ronnie after their lab sessions, so he'll be home at a reasonable time for once. Keith and Pidge didn't even take the power bank this morning so they must be planning on cutting out early. Lance should be home any minute-" As if on cue, they hear the soft  _thump_ of Lance dumping the laundry bags in the hallway outside the door. Neither of them get up to help, in the toss-up between Lance complaining they're in the way and Lance complaining nobody got up to open the door, one involves leaving the comfort of the nest and is therefore automatically ruled out.

"Coffee's on the counter!" Hunk leans over the back of the sofa and yells down the hall. There's a faint " _whoop_ " from Lance, followed by the sound of him kicking the bags of clean laundry into the kitchen. Lance lopes into view a minute later, planting a kiss on Hunk's cheek before flopping down on the floor between the two of them. He rests his arm on the sofa beside Shiro, grinning at him. 

"Hi," Lance grins. 

"Hey Lance," Shiro smiles sleepily. He's warm, full of tea, and his family is coming home, one by one. He can feel the muscles in his back beginning to unclench. Lance takes a huge swig of coffee, before planting a slightly milky kiss on Shiro's forehead. He cackles when Shiro frowns, groaning and digging his face into the pillow. His pillow will smell of coffee, but that's fine, it was Keith's to begin with. He'll just put it back and blame Lance. 

"We were talking movie night logistics." Hunk offers, and Lance gasps dramatically. 

"Hell yes, I have zero assignments due for like a month and I am so ready to put them all off until the last possible minute. Movie night, yes." Lance is deliberately not looking at Shiro and his trademark Disapproving Stare. When Lance finally looks over, it's after he's put his mug alongside theirs. "Room for a small one?"

Hunk laughs, that's one of the longest running inside jokes they have. Lance hasn't been "a small one" for a long time now. He's all long bones and whipcord muscles, taller than Shiro but still dwarfed by Hunk. He can still bundle himself up into ridiculously small spaces when the situation calls for it, though.

Shiro smiles, opening the top blanket in his nest and allowing Lance to fit himself into the embrace. Shiro leans over, allowing his weight to rest against Lance's back. The support immediately eases the strain, and he sighs into the back of Lance's head. Lance giggles, pulling out his phone.

"Smile, this one's a cat filter but it only works if you move your mouth a bit." Shiro doesn't smile, but a raised eyebrow seems to do the trick. Lance selects an artistic filter and sends the picture to their family group chat. Somewhere in the depths of the bedroom, Shiro's phone probably goes off, but he doesn't make a big deal of being easy to contact on days like this. Staring at the emails he can't answer does him no good, so he's stopped trying (for today, at least). He can already see Pidge's reply - awfully fast for someone who should be in a lecture right now - and Keith asking if he needs to pick anything up on his way home. Watching Lance type a long list of movie treats and discuss candy with Keith was the most relaxing thing he'd done all day.

Shiro woke to the sound of Matt bitching that Keith and Pidge had deliberately shut the door in his face (they probably had) and the feeling of Lance slipping out of his embrace. Hunk smiled at him from his nest, sipping on what appeared to be a fresh cup of tea. 

Maybe taking rest days on the sofa wasn't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I live with someone who has back problems stemming from an arm injury. Can confirm, this is realistic. Also, if my leg implants can throw my back out so hard I get _earache_ then you bet Shiro's prosthetic will probably result in him dealing with bitchy hips.
> 
> Shakira was right; hips don't lie and Shiro's are saying he needs to stretch out his fucking back.
> 
> Also aaaaaaaaa I ran out of time (curse ao3's one month draft limit) so the end is sucky and rushed, forgive me D:


End file.
